


no better to be safe than sorry

by orphan_account



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Bad Matchmaking, Dogs, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-29 16:34:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11444757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Hanzo places a warm, careful hand on the small of Jesse’s back. It’s a completely unnecessary gesture, but Hanzo seems determined to sell the fiction that this actually is a double date and not a matchmaking scheme, and Jesse certainly isn’t going to be the one that stops him.Or: In which McCree and Hanzo try their collective hand at matchmaking and stumble into something completely unexpected along the way.





	no better to be safe than sorry

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday, Victoria!

Jesse is not obsessed with his neighbor. He _isn’t_.

It just so happens that the window in his office looks out on the front sidewalk between their houses. It just so happens that Jesse likes to sit down at his laptop with a cup of coffee at the exact moment every morning when his neighbor goes on sweaty shirtless early morning jogs with his two impossibly cute dogs in tow. It just so happens that Jesse is still writing and still staring out the window when his neighbor leaves for work in a series of especially well-fitting suits, and when his dog-walker comes over around noon, and when he comes back in the evening, suit just as crisp as it had been eight hours ago.

It’s a coincidence that Jesse goes out to get his mail one morning at the exact same time as his neighbor is coming back from his run. And he only introduces himself because it’s the polite thing to do, certainly not because it’s getting absurd to keep calling the other man Hot Neighbor in the privacy of his own head.  If he keeps going out for the mail at the same time every single day, it’s only because it’s a convenient time. And maybe a little bit because he loves to pet Ryu and Tatsu, who are the cutest sleekest dogs Jesse has ever met. It’s certainly not because Hanzo’s eyes sparkle when Jesse makes him laugh, and his abs–

They’re just certainly out there, is all Jesse is saying.

And he _has_ to bring the extra batch of cookies he made over to Hanzo, really. There’s no way he could eat all of them by himself. His neighborly generosity exists for the sole purpose of keeping his own waistline in check; it has _nothing_ to do with the fact that Hanzo smiles, wide and bright, and immediately bites into a warm chocolate chip cookie and smears chocolate all over the side of his face. And Jesse only licks his finger and reaches out, slowly, to wipe the splotch off Hanzo’s cheek because he’s an upstanding citizen who knows how important it is to stay clean. It’s being polite, it’s _not_ being creepy, not even if he goes home and has a very long cold shower thinking about the way Hanzo blushed a little and bit his lip and ate a second cookie.

Okay, so Jesse might be a little obsessed with his neighbor.

 

* * *

 

The final line is crossed when he calls Lena. “Want to go on a run with me?” he says.

Lena snorts at him. “Since when do you run?”

“I’m startin’ now,” he says. “I want to start training for a … uh … for some race. I haven’t picked one yet.”

Lena laughs at him. “You’re going to regret this,” she says. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

Jesse used to have shame. Jesse used to have dignity. Now all Jesse has is an expensive pair of new running shoes and a really unpleasant burning sensation in his lungs.

“How far have we gone?” he pants. Beside him, Lena is bounding along, not even sweating in the midday heat, looking like a model from an ad for athleisure wear or women’s deodorant.

“About two miles,” she says, not even breathing heavily.

“How much farther?” he asks, and she just laughs at him.

Jesse loses his sense of time a few minutes after that; it’s just him and the beating sun and the rhythm of his and Lena’s sneakers on pavement. He’s almost glad when he starts to get a blister on his left heel, because at least it’s distracting him from how much the stitch in his side hurts. It feels like he’s being slowly but thoroughly stabbed through the bottom of his ribs with a very very dull kitchen knife. In comparison, the blister is like a picnic.

Lena had been right earlier, on the phone. He does regret this.

“Wow,” she says suddenly, “ _who_ is that _girl_?”

Jesse looks up from where he’s staring intently at the sidewalk in front of him, trying not to die. It’s Hanzo’s dog walker, turning the corner at the block ahead of them, both of Hanzo’s dogs trotting along happily beside her. “I think she’s Hanzo’s dog walker,” he tells her.

“Huh,” Lena says. Her eyes are huge, and she’s very rapidly blushing a deep red. And then she looks up at him. “Wait, who’s Hanzo?” she asks, briefly distracted from openly staring at the girl like she’s the most beautiful person in the entire world.

Against his will, Jesse immediately turns almost as red as Lena, although he suspects he’s already so red from running that she won’t be able to see a difference. “He’s my neighbor,” he says, trying to sound as casual as possible, but it’s hard when he can barely catch his breath.

“Oh my God,” Lena says gleefully, “is this why you have a newfound passion for jogging? Are you trying to get in better shape for your _boyfriend_?”

“Not my boyfriend,” Jesse forces out. “Just my neighbor. And no.” His passion for jogging might actually be inspired by a desire to be able to keep up with Hanzo on the off-chance he ever figures out a way to invite himself along on his morning runs, but Lena doesn’t need to know that.

“You totally think he’s hot, though, right?” Lena asks.

Jesse refuses to deign that comment with a reply.

They jog past Hanzo’s dog walker, and Jesse notes the way that Lena blushes again, turning pink all the way down the back of her neck, and speeding up as they go by. Jesse waves at Ryu, who barks happily at him, and at Tatsu, who ignores him completely. The young woman holding their leashes smiles politely at them both, but Jesse sees the way she _totally_ checks out Lena’s ass in her running shorts as they go past.

Jesse suddenly has a no-good very bad terrible idea.

He falls into a walk then, the stitch too much for him to go on. “Slow _down_ ,” he begs. He’s not in bad shape, really, he _knows_ that. It’s just that Lena is in a league of her own, and he really should have known better than to get into this situation.

Lena starts jogging in place as she waits for him to catch up to her. “Feeling that runner’s high yet?”

“No,” Jesse wheezes. “Are we almost done?”

“Only one more mile,” she promises, and he groans, tempted beyond belief to just lie down on the sidewalk right there. She takes off again like a shot, calling back over her shoulder, “too slow, McCree! Eat my dust!”

Jesse has made so many terrible mistakes in his life that have led him to this exact moment. He takes a deep breath, prays for his misery to end soon, and starts to run.

 

* * *

 

“My running buddy has a crush on your dog walker,” Jesse says.

Hanzo blinks at him. “Hello, Jesse,” he says politely. “Would you like to come in?”

Jesse beams. “Why, that would be great, thanks,” he says, and breezes past Hanzo into the other man’s house. “So, any ideas?”

“About what?” Hanzo asks.

“About how to hook my running buddy up with your dog walker,” Jesse says.

Hanzo winces. “About that … I’m pretty sure Emily’s gay. Sorry.”

Jesse grins at him. “Great,” he says, “so’s Lena.”

“Oh,” Hanzo says, “well, that changes things.”

Jesse flops down on Hanzo’s couch. It’s surprisingly comfortable for how fancy it looks. “Now my initial idea is spin the bottle, but–”

“They’re not thirteen,” Hanzo objects. “That’ll never work.”

“A good point,” Jesse acknowledges. “I was thinkin’ maybe we could have them over for a dinner party?”

Hanzo raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean, we?”

“Well,” Jesse hedges, “I turned my dining room into a home office, so my kitchen really only seats four, and–”

“Absolutely not,” Hanzo says. “No. I am a terrible host. I refuse.”

Jesse rolls his eyes. “Alright then, so what do you suggest?”

Hanzo sighs deeply. “God, I need a drink for this,” he mutters, and pads into his kitchen. “Jesse, would you like a beer?”

“Please and thank you,” Jesse says fervently, and follows him.

Hanzo opens his fridge and pulls out two cans, tossing one to Jesse, who barely manages to catch it with his one hand and avoid dropping it on the floor. “Oh, sorry,” Hanzo says, seeing how closely he skirted disaster, but Jesse just shrugs the other man off and cracks it open, cradling the can between his chest and his prosthetic arm and popping the tab one-handed in a well-practiced motion.

“Impressive,” Hanzo notes, before opening his own beer and taking a long sip. Jesse does _not_ watch the motion of his throat as he swallows, he does _not_ –oh, who is he kidding. He absolutely does.

“What if we just let them sort out their own business?” Hanzo says drily. “You know, like adults? I can give Emily your friend’s number and we can let the chips fall where they may.”

Jesse raises a skeptical eyebrow at him. “And you think that’ll work?”

“Oh, no, not at all,” Hanzo answers, “but I figured I should offer up at least one sensible option.”

Jesse laughs. “We’re matchmakin’, darlin’,” he drawls. “Pretty sure sensible don’t come into it at all.”

Hanzo nods at him in acknowledgement and then takes another long draught of his beer before staring off into the middle distance for a long moment, lost in thought. Jesse can practically see the wheels turning in Hanzo’s head; he doesn’t dare break the silence. He’s desperately curious to see what the other man is coming up with.

“A double date,” he says suddenly. “We’ll never be able to talk them into going out together alone, but if we make it a group thing–”

“I love it,” Jesse says. “But–a double date with who?”

Hanzo stares at him, deadpan. “With us, of course,” he says, as if it’s obvious. “I’ll tell Emily I need moral support to take my … let’s go with ‘handsome’ … neighbor out to dinner.”

“You think I’m handsome?” Jesse says, delighted.

Hanzo ignores him  completely. “Will Lena believe you if you tell her the same thing?”

Jesse remembers the way she’d crowed at him on their run earlier that day. “Oh, I’m willin’ to bet I could sell her on it,” he says drily.

“Perfect,” Hanzo says crisply. “I’ll text Emily, you text Lena. We’ll plan on Friday evening, as long as they’re both free.”

“Y’know,” Jesse says idly, “I didn’t actually think I’d be able to pull you into this harebrained scheme.”

Hanzo smirks at him. “I’m just such a true romantic at heart,” he murmurs, deadpan, and then leans back against his fridge. “No, actually, it’s just that Emily texted me after her walk with the girls today, asking if I knew any short-haired athletic supermodel types in the neighborhood. I have a strict personal policy of only letting myself get roped into schemes I know have a decent chance of succeeding.”

“Ha!” Jesse says, and punches the air. “I _knew_ I saw her check Lena out! We’re in!”

“I would _not_ go that far,” Hanzo says, but Jesse ignores him.

“So I’ll pick you up at seven on Friday,” he says with a wink, and drains the rest of his beer before heading out the door, patting Ryu’s head on the way.

 

* * *

 

Hanzo pulls open the door before Jesse can even manage to knock on it. “Take the hat off,” he says, in lieu of a proper greeting.

Jesse pouts at him. “What?” he says. “It’s my signature look.”

“It’s a nice restaurant,” Hanzo tells him. “I am not letting you wear a cowboy hat to a nice restaurant.”

Jesse opens his mouth to argue his case, but Hanzo steps out onto his front porch and swoops in to steal the hat right off Jesse’s head, and as he leans up and in to grab the hat, Jesse finds himself struck literally speechless.

Because if Jesse thought Hanzo looked good in his work suits, he’s an absolute knockout when he’s in full date regalia. His hair is pulled back in his usual style, but he’s got jeans on– _tight_ jeans–and a dark gray buttondown with the sleeves rolled up, showing off forearms that are at least as impressive as his abs. Jesse is just not prepared to handle this in his life right now, he really isn’t.

“You look nice,” Hanzo says softly, “at least without the hat on.”

Jesse manages to find his tongue again, and grins cheekily at him. “Why, thank you kindly,” he says. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

“Ready to go?” Hanzo asks.

“Any chance in hell of me gettin’ the hat back?” Jesse replies.

“Not a one,” Hanzo says simply.

“Then yes,” Jesse tells him, and Hanzo locks the door behind him, using his leg to stop his dogs from following him outside, and Jesse’s self-restraint is so utterly long-gone that he doesn’t even try not to stare at Hanzo’s ass in his jeans as he nudges two eager Doberman mix noses back inside his house.

Hanzo drives them to the restaurant, Jesse offering a token protest but allowing himself to be ushered into the passenger seat of Hanzo’s car with little true objections. Lena and Emily are already there when they arrive, cozily ensconced in a booth in the back corner. Lena spots them as they walk in and waves at them cheerfully, and Hanzo places a warm, careful hand in the small of Jesse’s back and guides him over. It’s a completely unnecessary gesture, but Hanzo seems determined to sell the fiction that this actually is a double date and not a matchmaking scheme, and Jesse certainly isn’t going to be the one that stops him.

Emily and Lena are sitting next to each other on one side of the booth; they’re both small enough to have more than enough room between them, but as Hanzo slides onto the bench after Jesse he immediately realizes that the booth is really too small to fit two reasonably tall, reasonably well-built adult men. They’re pressed together from knee to shoulder; every time Hanzo leans forward or takes a drink of water he jostles Jesse’s prosthetic. It’s _intensely_ hot–the contact, not the jostling. The jostling is just annoying.

“You ladies look very nice,” Hanzo says politely to them. Emily is wearing a floral sundress, and Lena is looking at her more-or-less with cartoon hearts in her eyes. Lena is woefully underdressed, as per usual, in dark jeans and a white t-shirt, but Emily’s blushing and staring right back with the same cartoon heart-eyes, so Jesse figures that Lena’s managed to pull it off anyway.

“You look nice, too,” Lena says to him, and then winks at Jesse. “McCree, on the other hand, well … you don’t clean up too bad, but you could really clean up a little better if you just–”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Jesse cuts her off. “Who was the one who–”

“Wait, stop–”

“If you–”

“So,” Hanzo says, wildly, “you two are running buddies?”

Jesse winces. He probably … shouldn’t have called Lena that.

She squeals in delight. “Oh, _nailed_ it, McCree! Did you _really_ tell him you were my running buddy?”

Jesse gently rests his forehead on the battered wooden surface of the table. He makes so many mistakes in his life, he really does.

“So you’re … not running buddies?” Emily hazards a guess. “But I saw you two out running earlier this week.”

“Oh no, I run,” Lena says airily, “and he does his best to keep up, and sometimes he almost even manages it.”

“So how do you two know each other, then?” Hanzo asks.

“We’re …” Jesse starts to say, “family,” he finishes.

“Coworkers,” Lena finishes at the same time.

Emily chokes on her water.

“That’s quite a difference in opinion,” Hanzo says diplomatically.

“We’re … close family friends,” Jesse says, lifting his head off the table and carefully selecting his words. “It’s like we’re family, really.”

“We grew up together,” Lena adds, “although McCree grew up a lot more than I did. Right, old man?”

She is truly a living nightmare, Jesse thinks.

“And I’m also his editor,” she continues. “I take his books and make them actually readable.”

Jesse kicks her under the table. “Excuse you, I get a little bit of credit,” he protests.

“Sure,” she giggles, “ you’re a real natural ‘New York Times best-seller!’” She does the air quotes with her fingers. He really hates her sometimes.

Hanzo turns to look at him. “Are you actually an author? I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah,” Jesse tells him, “I write–uh, westerns mostly.”

“Well, that explains the hat,” Hanzo laughs, and the sound is so– _warm_ , God damn it. Jesse can feel the tips of his ears turning red as Hanzo smiles at him and companionably knocks their shoulders together. He’s doing a really good job of being a convincing date; he’s doing _too_ good a job. He’s convincing Jesse himself, who really should know better. In fact, he should’ve seen this coming going in; the last thing anyone should do when they have an embarrassing crush on their hot neighbor is to ask said hot neighbor to sit next to them in a small space and laugh at their jokes and wear torturously tight shirts.

Jesse picks up a menu in self-defense; it takes literally all of his concentration to focus on anything that isn’t the strong press of Hanzo’s thigh against his, so he falls silent for a few minutes. He distantly hears Hanzo and the girls talking politely about the weather, or possibly the newest superhero movie; Jesse _really_ cannot focus on anything besides deciding on a type of pasta and how desperately he wants Hanzo to shove him up against the side of their booth and–

Anyway.

The waitress comes by; Hanzo orders a bottle of wine for the whole table and despite how long he spent staring at the menu, Jesse has absolutely no idea what he actually wants. He points at a random dish on the menu and hopes he didn’t accidentally order fish or a salad.

Emily and Lena seem to really be hitting it off; they’ve pretty much stopped talking to Hanzo, and they’re chattering back and forth so quickly that Jesse can barely understand a word either of them are saying. Jesse can’t be sure, but it sure looks like they’re playing footsie underneath the table.

Jesse feels awkward, sitting quietly next to Hanzo, but he has absolutely no idea what to talk about. He tries to make small talk a few times, but they just can’t manage to get a conversation flowing so once the wine comes, Jesse ends up drinking two glasses and eating half the bread basket just for something to do.

“Cheers,” Lena chirps at one point, apropos of nothing, and clinks her glass of wine against Emily’s, who giggles and leans into her shoulder. It’s so cute it’s literally tooth-rotting.

“Cheers,” Jesse drawls, echoing her, and clinks his against Hanzo’s. He looks honestly perturbed at the mere concept of toasting, but holds his glass up for it all the same.

“I think it’s working,” Jesse whispers in Hanzo’s ear after that.

Hanzo just smiles. “Yes,” he whispers back, “it really is.”

The food is excellent, when it finally arrives after Jesse’s third glass of admittedly excellent wine. He turns out to have ordered some kind of mushroom ravioli, which he didn’t expect to like but is surprisingly delicious. Hanzo has lasagna, and that’s also delicious; Jesse knows this because Hanzo took one bite, made an _absolutely_ obscene noise, and then held his fork full of lasagna out in front of Jesse’s face until he’d leaned forward and closed his mouth around it.

“You guys are really cute,” Emily says. “How long have you been together?”

Jesse has no idea what to say.

“A few months,” Hanzo says, “since I moved in next door,” and then kisses Jesse carefully on the cheek. Jesse has had exactly one glass of wine too many to do anything else but drop his fork and reach his hand up to grip Hanzo’s face and turn it towards his own, turn him into a real kiss. He licks into Hanzo’s mouth, tasting merlot and marinara sauce, fully aware that this is just over the line of propriety for a public space but not quite aware enough to stop, not once Hanzo softens into it and starts kissing him back. It’s only when Emily coughs pointedly at them that Jesse has the presence of mind to pull back.

Lena has picked up her knife and is gently tapping it against her wine glass. “Bravo, bravo,” she says brightly. Jesse really and truly hates her sometimes.

“Do you guys want dessert?” Emily asks. “The tiramisu sounds really good.”

“Ooh, yes,” Lena gushes, “can we split it?”

“I don’t think so,” Hanzo answers, “I’m pretty full. Jesse?”

“Me too,” Jesse says, “but you guys should totally get dessert. We might just head out a little early, because–”

“Because I have to check on the dogs,” Hanzo finishes smoothly, and Emily nods in understanding.

Jesse pulls out his wallet. “This’ll cover our half of the tab,” he says, leaving a stack of bills on the table, but he ends up leaving more than enough to cover Emily and Lena as well. He feels Hanzo watch him do it, gaze intense, but luckily Emily and Lena are too busy staring dreamily into each others’ eyes to notice.

“I can pay you back,” Hanzo murmurs. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to,” Jesse murmurs back, “and don’t you _dare_ , Shimada.”

“I had a lot of fun tonight,” Hanzo says, as they walk outside the restaurant into the cool night air.

“Yeah,” Jesse says, “me too. I think they really hit it off.”

“This … this wasn’t really a fake date for a matchmaking scheme,” Hanzo says abruptly, “was it?”

Jesse winces, because _oops_. “No, not really,” he says. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Hanzo says, “don’t–God–Jesse–” and then he’s pushing Jesse up against the brick wall of the restaurant and kissing him, pressing their entire bodies together, one hand coming down to sit at the small of Jesse’s back, the other carding through his hair and softly cushioning the back of his head from the rough brick wall. He kisses intently, like his entire world has narrowed to him and Jesse and the point where their lips meet. It’s overwhelming, intoxicating, and _very_ good.

Jesse loops his right arm around the back of Hanzo’s neck and then slows the kiss down, taking it from frenzied to languid, slipping his tongue in Hanzo’s mouth, leaning back against the wall until Hanzo is hovering above him despite their height difference, until he pulls back and they just breathe there for a long moment. In the dim orange of the streetlight, Hanzo looks–perfect, the shadows throwing his features into high relief, his pupils blown huge and dark.

“Hey,” Jesse says, breaking the silence, voice coming out rough and low. “Do you wanna go out with me again sometime? For real. Just us. No schemes.”

“Yes,” Hanzo says immediately. “I think I would really like that.”

Jesse kisses him again, and again, until–

“Get a room!” Lena shouts. Emily wolf-whistles at them, which is both _terrible_ and a sign that she may actually be perfect for Lena.

Jesse drops his head down onto Hanzo’s shoulder in mortification. He loves Lena, but he hates Lena.

Hanzo just slips his hand into Jesse’s back pocket. “Let’s go home,” he says mildly, and–

“Yep,” Jesse says, “let’s,” and they do.

 

**Author's Note:**

> It's worth noting that re: Overwatch I super do not even go here so all this is completely made up and/or stolen from Wikipedia, so if everyone is out of character it's because I have no idea what in character even is. Oh well! #YOLO


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